This is the truth
by Lauretania
Summary: A summary of Baz and Simon's lives, emotional, written mostly from Baz's point of view. Baz Pitch and Simon Snow, you think you know the truth, but you don't. SnowBaz.
1. Chapter 1

_I've always been told I couldn't be a writer. My parents, though not exactly unsupportive, weren't exactly fond of the idea. In a stupid and obnoxious sounding way, they thought I had been born for better things._

 _How wrong they were._

 _Writing isn't something you can choose, it's part of you. There's no going back once you start. The words flow out of you and they never stop and even when I was just walking from place to place when I was younger, I used to make up mini little descriptions or little narrations that could explain my thoughts and things._

 _I remember I used to have to make this long walk up and down these hills to get to the home of my parents, and sometimes in the winter, it'd get so dark that all the little lights of the town were visible to me from the the top of the hill, and as I walked further down it, I could see even less of these people's lives._

 _It all seemed like such a story to me. You can look from higher up, like a narrator does, and see everything, but then, towards the end of a book, the narrator moves further down, and all you can see is the character's individual lives, and you care less about the world but rather, you care about whether the characters will live good lives, or bad ones, whether they will face the odds and live on._

 _That seems horrifically sad to me. The whole point of books is that they are not like real life, and so shouldn't they teach us that the world itself is just as important as we are? Of course it shouldn't, otherwise it would be boring._

 _Or at least, that was what my English teacher told me. The world seems to agree with her._

 _As I am writing this, I am approximately sitting as far away from the love of my life as you are from the pages I write. I can hear his breath, feel his warmth. Yet you cannot feel any of these things from me, unless you're some sort of stalker in which case... Let's talk about that later_

 _The thing about Simon, was he was always the main character of mine story._

 _He was, in my opinion, the most unreal person that existed. It doesn't surprise me that he died of course._

 _All the best people die. And all people die eventually anyway. Makes you wonder why we're alive in the first place if that's all we're destined for... Don't think about that too much. You'll end up staring at the ceiling for hours on end, wondering if there is anyone else out there awake, and then you realise and think, of course there are, there are people all across the world who are the same as me, or they're awake in Australia or America or somewhere! And you don't feel quite so alone._

 _I remember when I was a teenager, I used to wonder if hearts beat in time, or did you just randomly start the rhythm of your heart by yourself? I can now confess that neither is true, that instead, environmental features affect the beat of your heart, and that is, therefore, how Simon and I have hearts that beat in time._

 _Literally._

* * *

 _And now that he's dying, I owe it to you to tell you his story, and there will probably be a bit of mine in there too._

 _Mostly because I'm a person very obsessed with his own importance, though that's probably not new to you (it isn't to me)._

* * *

 _I first met Simon Snow on a wintry evening around the 9th of September, but I can't remember the exact date, I do remember the weather. It was snowing- perhaps that's why I remember it so well. I was just leaving the school grounds. It had taken me a while, since my black polished school shoes had apparently decided of their own accord that they definitely did not, under any circumstances, want to enter the snow. This led me to jumping from patch to patch of ground that was not covered by snow in the hopes of pleasing them. Needless to say, I looked like a twit._

 _As per freaking usual._

 _It was actually going quite well, until I took the wrong step and began falling backwards, and fell in the snow roughly, after having slipped on a patch of melting snow. I sat there for about a minute, having an inner dialogue of how absolutely mortifying it would be if I had to stand up in front of my peers and walk home in a soaking wet uniform. Not to mention the scolding I would get from my mother._

 _Though when was I not in trouble with my parents at the time? Pretty much never. I suppose maybe I was just a difficult kid, I don't know._

 _Some more seconds start and end before I finally push myself up, to find a kid watching me intently, a smile on his face. I can't remember whether it was a smile or a smirk, but I still believe Simon is too much of a dufus to actually know how to smirk, since that's technically my forte._

 _I scowl at him, and begin the walk of shame that leads to my home and a firm scolding from my mother, and he joins me at my side, and introduces himself, roughly gripping my hand and grinning, before shaking it firmly._

 _"Simon Snow," He said, "Though you can just call me Simon if you like. I just moved here."_

 _"No kidding." I remember mumbling, yanking my hand back, and staring straight ahead. Moody git._

 _"What's that supposed to mean?" Asked Simon, very obviously offended, looking like a kicked puppy, and eyes to match the saddened voice too._

 _"Well, you're just pretty cheerful that's all, no one around here is like that." I muttered. I hadn't meant to offend him, looking at how much he grinned and smiled I didn't think it was possible._

 _"You don't have to tell me... Why not though?" He asked, playing with the strap of his backpack, in a similar way to how I was fiddling with the clasp of my satchel._

 _"I don't know Snow, I just live here." I groaned. "And by the way, why does your name sound like a really cheesy book character?"_

 _"I knew it was you! You're that guy who always risks his life reading on the walk to school aren't you? Do you have any idea how many times you've almost died?"_

 _"If the world loved me it'd let me die." I mumbled again._

 _He frowned._

 _"You don't seem like the depressed type to me." He said, looking at me intently, his eyebrows scrunched together in seeming concentration._

 _"Really?" I asked, unable to mask my surprise. "That's all anyone seems to see me as." I protested._

 _"Well, you do sorta match the whole 'I'm an emo or a vampire' look, and you don't exactly smile that much so can you blame 'em?"_

 _"Hm." I said. "Where are you from anyway? You're accent is a little carefree for me." I said, showing confusion rather than trying to sound offensive._

 _It took a lot of conscious effort back then to show the difference._

 _"Well, I um... I'm a foster kid, the family that sent me to stay here has a bit of an autstralian accent though, and I've been around them for a while so maybe that's why." He said, looking down at his shoes all of a sudden._

 _"So, you're a full time boarder? You live at the school?" I asked._

 _"Yeah." He answered._

 _"So how did you know I'm the kid who walks home with my face in a book?" I asked._

 _He blushed. "My friend... um... Penny.. is kind of obsessed with you, so I hear a lot about you." He answered, fiddling with the strap of his bag again._

 _I felt myself blushing too. "Sorry um... But I don't really like Penny like that... And um, why are you walking with me?"_

 _"Can I come over?" He asked, in means of response, "I mean, I like you and it's not like I've anywhere to be." He said._

 _"I suppose." I muttered, "But, you might not like it."_

 _"I'm sure I'll manage."_

* * *

 _At the time, I didn't really talk to people. I would much rather live in a world of books and made up people than actual ones._

 _Made up people are so much more understanding than real ones, and they literally cannot ignore you._

 _Dragon slayers and thieves and assassins were my friends, magic cats and time travellers alike._

 _So imagine how quickly my life changed when Simon came into it. Not only was someone talking to me but someone went out of their way to see me, and I did the same to him. It was incredible, and a complete life changer. Sometimes, I would go to his dorm after school had finished so I didn't have to go home._

 _Because home was the nightmare._

 _Simon is of course, deteriorating, and I write this now because the doctors have estimated he has around a week, and I don't know how understandable my writing will be after he is dead._

* * *

 _Have you ever been in love with someone who's dying? It's destructive. It takes every part of you and makes you question whatever right you thought you had to be alive. Because you know that that person never deserved what they got and you wish you could protect them from the pain, but you can't._

 _So you wait. You take the angry blows they throw at you in their fury and fear of death because you love them._

 _You love them so desperately that it's hard to breathe, and you know this cancerous growth will spread and every minute instead of becoming precious becomes poisonous._

 _There's no hope. They're going to die._

 _And you know in that moment that you're dying. You're dying as irreversibly as they are and as irreversibly as your love for them is._

 _And before you know it, they're gone._

 _And so are you._

 **A/N: This is all a chapter from Simon and Baz's book. I know it's not central to the plot but I don't know if you guys want to read these as well? What do you think of them? Cute? Sad? It's been a really horrible weekend for me. And I wish I could just go to sleep and forget it all... I'm really struggling, but it doesn't matter, I'm ok. Sorry. I'll try and upload soon but um, it could be a while depending on how this week goes. I'll keep you posted, I know I'm not very reliable I'm sorry.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Simon couldn't stop throwing up last night. I was woken up by him at around 3am. He thrust the covers off of himself and sprinted to the bathroom, collapsing on the bathroom floor and proceeding to throw his guts up and hold onto the base of the toilet like a life line. I was wide awake in minutes._

 _I ran to catch up with him, sitting behind him and rubbing his back._

 _He finally finished retching after a few minutes, and collapsed against my chest, shaking uncontrollably. He was taking long, deep, uneven breaths, shuddering against me._

" _Simon... We need to take you to the hospital..." I whispered, but he just shook his head against my chest, smiling._

" _No... I'm ok, stop worrying." He said, breathing into my chest, breath rattling._

 _But I couldn't. I had never really been one to worry, but this was Simon's possibly last week, and I didn't- don't-want him to spend it in pain._

" _Snow. Stop being stupid," I protested, but before I could continue he pushed himself forward and began retching again. There were tears streaming down his face in distress._

 _It hurt. More than anything, to watch him become this. But I didn't force him to go to hospital._

 _The hardest part about it is continuing to be myself. Before this whole mess started, I was cocky and sarcastic, and I didn't show that much affection at all. Now all of that is falling apart. Not only is Simon breaking apart, but so am I with him._

* * *

 _When I was living with my parents, I certainly wasn't happy. I grew up with no brothers or sisters, only a few servants. The first day I brought Simon to my home was frankly a very scary day for me. My parents are proper, and they have very strong opinions about almost everything, and they are barely ever happy._

 _Still, when I showed Simon into the house he was so shocked he stopped dead in his tracks. The large halls were draped in silver on every surface, in not only the colour, but also the metal. Simon was barely brave enough to touch the staircase and walls for fear of breaking them. The idiot._

 _He moved with such cautiousness that I remember pushing him slightly so he collided with one wall, just to see what he would do. He flailed slightly for about 30 seconds before he fell to the floor._

 _I remember smirking from above him._

" _Aren't you going to help me up?"_

" _Why would I offer help to someone who's perfectly capable to help themselves?" I asked over my shoulder, as I walked- or rather, swaggered as Simon would say._

" _Because you care about them?" He asked. And that drew me up short. I stopped in my tracks slightly, looking back over my shoulder at him as he struggled to his feet._

* * *

 _At the time, I didn't explain myself to him, though I know now exactly what it was that he said whih sparked something within me, and that was the idea of caring for him. In my life, I had never felt like I had a duty of care to anyone. I had no friends to speak of, and my parents weren't exactly caring towards me. My parents wanted one thing of and from me and that was the idea of success, that I wouldn't drag the Pitch name through the mud._

 _I was their only child, and so therefore I was expected to hit all the items on the ticklist, to fulfil all the chosen criteria._

 _I couldn't be too antisocial, yet I couldn't demand attention. I couldn't be too smart for their liking, but if I didn't catch on to things immediately then that wasn't any good either._

 _Many things are expected of a child, but for me, there was always so much more. Our town was not one with high expectations, so perhaps that made what my parents thought seem so much harsher to me._

 _But that was why it bothered me so much. Simon said it so easily, like care was something you gave out freely. That you helped people because you cared about them._

 _I had never been raised that way. If I were to grant a wish demanded of me, then I only did so if I wanted something back. My parents never helped me. I was expected to work hard and make them proud, but they were not bound by the duty of care that Simon seemed to believe everyone was bound to._

 _Positive emotions were clearly limited when I grew up._

* * *

 _Once Simon got to his feet I continued to guide him through the house. We walked side by side, though Simon was still walking as if the whole house might shatter is he walked too fast._

 _I caught a glimpse of Henry, the butler, and he grinned as he saw us approach. Henry is a tall, slim figure, with brown hair and eyes. He's not good looking or bad looking really, and probably around 24 in age. He was good company, and he was one of the few people that I liked to think were sort of... well, not friends, but maybe something like that._

 _Can your butler be your friend?_

" _Master Basil, you're home." He said, and I rolled my eyes._

" _You're stating the obvious again Henry." I said, but smiled anyway. "Are my parents home yet?" I inquired._

" _Not quite yet, though I've heard from them; they said they wouldn't be long." He replied._

 _I sighed. "Alright. I'll be in my room." I said, and began to head up the long staircase._

 _Simon continued with some small talk with the butler before following behind me. It didn't really surprise me. He was always so cheerful and friendly that it wasn't exactly out of character for him._

 _ **Side note- He's stayed like that his whole life.**_

 _My room at the time was covered in paper. Failed story ideas and also little drawings, maps I'll never lose, different chapters that had obviously lost their orders, and the actually good stories or my own little thoughts were taped to the walls._

 _I remember thinking that actually letting someone else see my room was a really bad idea. It was almost terrifying to think that someone else might actually read what I had written._

 _But then Simon saw the walls, and he was transfixed. I was halfway through talking about how I loved the view my room had of the garden when I finally noticed he was staring at the wall intently._

"There are worse things than dying." _He read out._

"Like what?"

"Like never having lived at all."

 _His eyes skittered around the room, flickering over each piece of paper like it was a treasure._

"There's an almost 1 in 10 chance we're going to die."

"Oh great... What's the plan?"

"Well, we could just wait it out, I mean, 1 in 10 aren't bad odds when you think about it."

 _Simon began laughing lightly._

" _These are really cool, what are they from?" He asked, and then I realised, he thought they were quotes, pieces from actual books._

" _They're not from anywhere." I answered as best I could. He stared at me like I'd grown a second head._

" _You_ _ **wrote**_ _these?" He asked, and I was about to answer when I heard our grand door open._

 _My parents were home. Great._

" _Come on. We should go downstairs to greet them." I said grimly, straightening my clothes and getting rid of every crease, tidying up my ruffled hair until I was almost unrecognisable._

 _Simon said nothing, just followed me down the staircase and stood beside me at the bottom. Shifting from foot to foot- nervous._

" _I said you might not like it." I smirked, but he just grinned sheepishly, wringing his hands together nervously._

" _Don't worry, I got this." I said._

 _My parents began to approach us then, my tall and stern father and equally tall and slim mother, their judgemental faces looking down at Simon analytically. I fought the urge to tell them to stop that, and formed my hands into fists behind my back._

" _Basilton, who's this?"My mother asked, gesturing towards Simon._

" _Mother, this is Simon Snow, he's a friend of mine from school." I answered._

" _Well then he must be staying for dinner!" Proclaimed my mother, and my eyes grew wide, looking at my father._

" _No no, that won't be necessary, he must be getting back." I protested._

" _Nonsense!" Interrupted my father, and I resisted the urge to shrink back. Coward. "He simply must stay for dinner and that's final!"_

 _I said nothing._

" _If it's not too much trouble of course..." Simon said suddenly, looking down at the floor._

" _Of course not child. Basilton simply doesn't invite guests too often, so we would much like to get to know you better." My mother said, and Simon simply nodded, and expressed his thanks._

" _Dinner won't be long boys, why don't you go back upstairs, and I'll call you when it's ready?" Mother asked, and I smiled at her, showing my thanks._

" _And Basilton, remember your manners, no imposing this writing nonsense on Mr Snow, do you hear me?" Mother asked, and I nodded._

 _Just like that, my smile was gone._

* * *

 _The minute we got back up to my room, I threw myself onto my bed, groaning in annoyance._

" _I'm sorry, I tried to spare you." I said, smiling bitterly._

" _It's fine. What did she mean writing nonsense?" He asked, as I messed up my hair once more, and relaxed. I was tempted to remove my tie, but I knew I would only get in trouble for that._

 _My parents would stand for nothing but perfection, both those days and now._

" _My parents don't like the idea of me becoming an author." I answered, my eyes wandering to the writings on the wall, just as Simon's were doing._

" _You're joking, it's obviously what you were born to be Baz, are they crazy?" He asked incredulously._

" _That's up for debate." I said, grinning and turning my head towards him._

 _We laughed in spite of ourselves._

 _The rest of the time we had to ourselves passed easily. Turned out Simon liked music, a hell of a lot, and I found him fascinating. He had wandered from foster home to foster home, sometimes not getting adopted for months or years, and he always said that wherever he went, he never felt like he belonged._

 _Even this town made him feel out of place, since it was like living in constant rain._

 _I understood what he meant by that, because rain is something that you can't help, but happens anyway, and this town seemed to be in a constant state of not doing anything to help itself, and the place and also the people were dying and suffering because of that fact._

 _A bit like depression I suppose. I can't be helped, and happens anyway. But it also gives you that feeling of constant rain._

* * *

 _We were called to dinner a while later, I'm not sure how long, and it was a horrific affair._

 _Simon sat across from me, and my parents across from each other. It was a large, rectangular table, and it was very obvious my father was at the head of it, and not my mother._

 _The first few minutes went fine, they were mostly spent in silence, but after that, all hell broke loose._

" _So Mr Snow, you go to Basilton's school, correct? Are you boarding?"_

" _Yes sir, I am. My current family sent me to the school full time since they travel quite a bit." He answered._

" _What do you mean your current family?"_

 _I winced. Of course he goes in straight for the sensitive topics. Bastard._

" _Well... I never met my real parents, I've been in foster care as long as I can remember. I've been with my current family for the past year, and I like them a lot."_

" _I see, that must have been difficult, but why bounce from family to family? Surely, once you get adopted by one that should be it, shouldn't it?" He pressed._

 _I resisted the urge to roll me eyes. My father very obviously did not know that there was a limit of how many sensitive questions you ask someone you barely know._

" _Well... I was a bit of a troubled child." He replied, smiling despite the fact that this conversation was obviously making him nervous and uncomfortable. He looked over at me for reassurance._

" _In what way?" My father asked._

" _Father that's enough." I muttered._

" _I'm just asking the boy a question, Basilton."_

" _And I said that that was enough." I said again, looking up at him, and glaring as hard as I could._

" _I don't know what's gotten into you lately Basilton... First with all this writing rubbish, then trying to change your appearance, then you're getting home later and later, you leave without us knowing where you're going and now with the misbehaviour and talking back. What am I going to do to you?" he asked, almost shouting now._

" _I'm sorry father." I apologised, looking down at the tablet cloth._

 _The noise of eating had stopped now. There was utter silence._

" _Look at me when I'm talking to you!" He shouted._

 _Oh boy, now I've gone and don't it... I remember thinking._

" _Sir, with all due respect please don't take anything out on Baz, he simply observed that your questions were distressing me is all." Simon tried to appease._

" _Baz?" Baz's mother repeated, looking at her son with wide eyes._

 _Baz cursed under his breath._

" _What kind of name is that?" My father demanded._

" _It's just a pen-I mean-nickname father." I whispered._

" _Enough with this nonsense! You will never be a writer Basilton!" Screamed my father, standing up from his seat. His spit his my face, and I continued to look at the table cloth._

 _I could see Simon out of the corner of my eye, his eyes wide, and apologetic and scared beyond belief._

" _Father please, we have company." I said, in way of apology._

" _Then perhaps it's time we no longer had company." He growled, turning to Simon._

" _Leave him alone father, please, just let me escort him out." I said._

 _He just nodded, and sat back down, as I lead Simon from the room._

" _Will you be alright on your own?"_

" _Nothing I can't handle."_

" _You shouldn't have to handle anything." He said angrily._

" _Just leave it, and go. Please." I begged, something completely out of character for me at the time._

 _He nodded and fled._

* * *

 _At the time, I was ashamed, but as time went by, Simon became incredibly important to me._

 _He still is now._

 _And it's possible I only have 7 more days with him._

 _Not even 70 years would have been long enough._

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who has supported this story so far, it means more than I can say- this is very very close to my heart.**


	3. Chapter 3

The nightmares started months ago. At first they were few and far between, but now they come back almost consistently. Simon sleeps either too heavily or too lightly, and the worst times are when he wakes me up.

It happened the other night, I was tossing and turning in my sleep, and my breathing was fast, and light against the pillow. My hands twitched and I struggled against the sheets to free myself of them.

All the struggling shook Simon unceremoniously awake. He circled his fingers around my wrists and held them fast and shouted my name until I gasped and flew to sit up.

I hit him by the forehead and we both cried out, and this was promptly followed by silence where I collapsed into his chest and shook until I could shake no more. He held me in silence and kissed my forehead, but the sounds of his shaky breaths did nothing to reassure me.

In fact, they mirrored my own.

* * *

The restrictions placed on me during my childhood became doubly strict due to Simon's influence on my life. I lost all my privileges to do with books and also technology.

My time was equally divided between learning etiquette, studying business with my father, attending parties, playing the violin and school, and sleeping. There wasn't any time left over for anything else.

Eventually, I started sneaking out in the middle of the night. Life was beginning to become more like hell than heaven, but in the midst of everything, there was a beacon of light.

And that beacon of light had blond hair and moles and spots and the most ridiculous logic.

My room used to be situated at the side of the house, gargoyles on the bed and all around the dark room. The only good thing to me about it was the writings on the wall. They were the one thing that was actually mine in the godforsaken place.

Simon's room though... Well, that was completely different. His room made me feel safer than anywhere else, heck, just being around Snow was like a breath of fresh air.

Midnight conversations were the lifeblood of our relationship.

I remember once telling him about the restrictions... It was way past midnight then, and that was when we voiced the thoughts that were otherwise left unsaid.

* * *

"This whole thing is bullshit! I barely have any contact with anyone my age and I'm so sick of studying I'm losing my goddamn mind Snow." I lamented to him that night, flopping down on his bed in anguish.

He laughed.

"You'll manage Baz, besides, I'm sure they're just worried about you." Snow argued.

I sighed inwardly.

"Look, it's not like I want you to go, you don't need to leave me unless you want to." Simon explained, flopping down next to me.

I tactfully ignored that statement.

"You said they were worried for me. What did you mean?"

"Maybe not worried but my 'parents' have complained at me far too much about their other kids for me not to know what annoys them, if your parents are the same it's just likely that they don't like being ignored."

"They worry about me writing so much too." I said, "That I'm relying on being in this enclosed little world and I'll start resenting them and that's why I'm 'ignoring' them."

Little did they know I'd started resenting them as soon as I understood what they were like. And that was a very long time ago.

"Look, I don't know your parents, but according to adults, it's growing up time as far as they're concerned. We have to learn to cook, live in the real world, learn to speak to people and we can't do that if we're in our own little worlds can we?" Simon whispered.

I covered my face with my hands. "But I don't want to grow up." I muttered. There, I'd said it.

Simon laughed bitterly. "Join the freaking club."

* * *

Simon was lucky in some ways, and unlucky in others as a child. Because he boarded, he didn't have to worry about arguing with his 'parents' or anything like that. However, when he wasn't boarding, the few times when he actually got to see his so called parents, it was so tiring that we would go days without talking, and he would just be sleeping constantly. That always made me worry.

Little did I know what kind of worry awaited me in the distant future.

* * *

The night everything changed was March 2nd. I'd never expected anything to actually happen... but anyway, it was a quiet night and I was huddled on my laptop in my room. It was an ancient thing, and my parents probably thought I'd thrown it out years ago, but no such thing was true. The device still worked fine, but most importantly, it had all my manuscripts typed up onto it.

I was working on one such manuscript when I heard the front door shut harshly and an almighty crash followed. I frowned into the screen at the noise, and jumped.

I sent a text over skype to Simon saying:

 **Be right Back, I think my dad might be drunk of something, I'll be back soon.**

He replied with:

 **Don't mind me, I'll just be reading the rest of this awesome manuscript. You have got to tell me what happens to Cathy, is she allowed to pursue her dream? Is she found out as being a girl? And be careful.**

I grinned at his ridiculousness, and then closed the screen over after finishing my sentence. I liked Cathy. She was righteous, and all she wanted was to pursue her dream of becoming a famous artist, but she had to go to extreme lengths to pursue this. She was everything I wanted to become.

I thought about her story as I ran down the steps to the reception room, the grand stair case felt miles long with thoughts of Cathy raising through my head.

As I ran, I thought of her bravery, and it was exhilarating. To have so much control over one world that you almost forgot the other.

And then everything went to shit.

I came back to reality only to find what I had least expected. My mother was crumpled on the ground, and my father was standing over her.

You know how people talk about being rooted to the spot and not being able to do anything?

Yeah I call bullshit on that.

I had absolutely NO problem whatsoever of punching my father square in the stomach then.

He only got one hit in before I got him on the floor, but it still hurt.

He was so drunk it was more than enough to knock him into the floor and straight out.

I helped mother off of the floor and washed her face, my father's nails causing beads of blood to drip down one side of her face. We said nothing for a while. Quite frankly I had had quite a lot of fun giving my father what for.

The silence was only broken once, and for once it was not by myself, but my mother instead. I was about to go and put the water basin away, when she clasped my hands tightly and kissed them.

She looked up at me with those brown eyes and said:

"Courage sometimes skips a generation and I love you so much Baz, for many reasons, but mostly, because you brought it back to our family."

And there was only one thing left to say to her, in my opinion.

"Mother. With you living here- that courage never left." I told her, and she smiled shakily.

* * *

 **Baz? Are you alright?**

The text was immediate as soon as the little skype icon showed I was online. The dork.

I figured there was no point beating around the bush;

 **My dad was drunk. He hit me and my mother.**

 **WHAT? ARE YOU OK DO YOU WANT TO COME OVER?!**

 **I'm fine Snow. He's passed out now.**

 **For gods' sakes Basilton Pitch you'll be the death of me. Do you want me to call the police?**

 **No, just give it tonight ok? My mum doesn't need that kind of drama.**

 **Ok, I get it. But be safe ok?**

 **Of course. I'll talk to you tomorrow Snow.**

 **But what about Cathy?!**

 **She can wait.**

* * *

My childhood was never easy, there were constant expectations, constant things I had to do. There was so much stress that sometimes I would go days without sleep. The lack of sleep usually led to nightmares, where I would fall asleep in Simon's dorm and he would have to shake me awake.

Back then, the dreams were about my dad. About the danger my mother was in, how I would never be free of him, since we never were able to get him out of our house.

Those nights, Simon would shake me awake, face full of concern and hold me close.

Really, times haven't changed, or well, only one thing has.

The amount of time we have left.


	4. Chapter 4

Simon doesn't feel anything anymore. Neither do I really. Aren't I allowed to cry? Just because I'm not the one who's dying, does that make my feelings any less valid? Because I'm being ripped apart, and do you know what the worst part is? I can't even feel it anymore.

* * *

 **A/N: The events described in this chapter are based on true experiences. I appreciate your understanding in this matter.**

* * *

I'd say I was happier after my dad left, but I wasn't. I was a fucking mess, that's what I was. Still am.

The days, and first few weeks after he had left were horrific. My mother and I didn't know how to do anything it seemed, every move we made was the wrong one. She tried to support me, care for me, talk to me, and I knew that it wasn't her fault.

The problem was that I had trained myself into silence. I had told myself for so long that no one cared, that it seemed impossible for anyone to want to listen to me.

The realisation didn't help. I felt like I was suffocating, and even Simon, my best friend in the world, was blind to it all.

Imagine my point of view, there is so much on my mind, that it feels like I'm suffocating. I want to talk about my dream for the future, about writing, I want to talk about how useless I feel, I want to talk about how much pain my mother is in and I can't help her. But more importantly, I want to talk about how I just don't feel anything.

There's no happiness, no light. I realised that the reason Simon had been so bright when I met him was because there was no light in my life. There was no happy emotion at all, the best I got was this feeling of emptiness when I didn't feel anything at all, and in all honesty, in part, that was better than the feeling of crippling sadness for NO REASON.

It was tearing me apart, but I couldn't find the words to express how I was feeling. I could see myself deteriorating, fading. Simon began to gain popularity in school, and I felt like I was being forgotten. Of course I still hung around with him and his friends, but it was just that, him and HIS friends. And sometimes they said things that cut too deep;

"Why don't you just leave Baz no one likes you."

"Where's your boyfriend, Baz?"

"Would you just shut up?"

"You sound depressed today."

"You're just tired, it's your own fault."

"Oh shut up, don't be like this today."

"You like being alone."

"Antisocial."

"Gay."

These people were meant to be his- no- _my_ friends. Why would they say these things if that were true? It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. And I was sick of it.

I remembered one of the days it happened, we were in the middle of a PE lesson, and their words were there again. I felt like I was being cut open, it was hard to breathe.

And it was the fact that Simon was laughing with them too. He knew how bad I was, didn't he?

And with a sudden realisation, I understood. No. He didn't.

It hit me like a tonne of bricks, and halfway through our badminton game I had to run. I bolted into the bathroom, breathing hard, gasping. I felt like I was going to cry, but that wasn't allowed, it was unthinkable, I couldn't.

I didn't feel anything. It was like being underwater, like all their voices and the feelings were muffled, and even though I was upset, it was more like trying to swim back up to the surface.

I was left gasping for air.

I felt a sharp pain in my hand, and with the realisation, I was ripped back into reality. My hand was bleeding. I had cut into my own hand with my fingernails so hard that it bled.

For the first time, there was some clarity, by focusing on the pain, my mind was kept away from anything else, it was nice.

And then I was hit with a wave of panic, my hands shook harder, my legs gave out and I slid to the floor.

What had I done? Had I just inflicted pain on myself? On myself?

* * *

Simon found me after writing this part of my life with tears in my eyes and my hands white from gripping the corners of my desk. It hurt, writing this, all of it. But I have to.

I had been stupid at the time, to think he didn't care, that he couldn't see my pain.

Oh Baz, that was all he had seen.

* * *

The second time Simon Snow saved me was that day. He found me huddled on the school's bathroom floor.

There was pain of course, when he cleaned the wounds of my hands. The nail marks had travelled up my wrists and arms in my desperation to feel _something_.

"Oh Baz, what have you done?" He whispered as he lead my arms under the water. I was so numb that I couldn't say anything for several minutes.

When my arms were drowning in water, he released my arms, and I fell back to rest against the wall and sit on the floor. He sat beside me, our heads together, sitting in silence.

I think we missed the rest of the lessons for the day, just sitting there, talking, sometimes in silence, doing homework together.

Simon sighed against my hair.

"You thought I had forgotten you." He said, and I said nothing at first. I wasn't angry.

I couldn't feel anything at all, just empty, borderline sadness that forbade me to cry.

"I thought you couldn't see me." I said, getting up from the floor and running my hands through my hair- pacing in the confined space.

My arms still hurt to move.

"Baz, I'm sorry, I didn't think." He said, looking up at me from the floor.

"I know Snow." I said, but it sounded more like a breath. A sigh.

"Please don't be angry at me." He pleaded, starting to get up.

"Don't you get it, Snow? I can't be angry at you. It's like I've forgotten how... I don't... I don't feel anything anymore!" I shouted, rubbing my face with my hands. When I took my hands away from my face, he was there in front of me, and his fingers circled my wrists.

"Feel this." He whispered, and his lips grazed against mine.

Just like he said, all it was was feeling. Fleeting, but it was there. It was warm, and like fire spreading through me.

What was I doing? I was kissing Simon... I was kissing my best friend... I was kissing a boy.

He pulled away slowly, breaths mingling, eyes still closed, mine half open.

"Say something." He whispered, his hand sliding down my chest and resting there, as if he had lost all energy.

"I can't." I whispered, looking up at him, his face confused and hopeful, but once again... I felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

A kiss, the comfort at the time... It meant so much to me.

But now that comfort is being ripped away, thread by thread, and the best parts of me are being taken with it, line by line of fabric stripped away, until there is nothing left.

* * *

 **A/N: hey. It's been a while.**

 **I'm sorry for leaving all of you like that, but I haven't been able to write anything, do anything, lately.**

 **I have a hospital appointment on the 29** **th** **of February, which is terrifying... It's not for cancer, don't worry- it's for depression actually. Diagnosis I mean, and hopefully.. Hopefully I'll get some help, which I'm scared of too... I can't really explain how I feel because I don't feel anything. I know I should be scared but it's like I don't have the capacity to be scared. I know it doesn't make any sense.**

 **I don't know. Sorry about this chapter by the way, I know it's awful.**

 **Again, THE EVENTS DESCRIBED IN THIS CHAPTER ARE BASED ON TRUE EXPERIENCES.**

 **I APPRECIATE YOUR UNDERSTANDING IN THIS MATTER.**

 **-L**


	5. Chapter 5

_Snow's rasping breaths haunt me through the night. It's worse than the snoring used to be. Annoying as it was, at least the snoring was a reminder that he was alive. The rasping is just a constant, mocking reminder of his imminent death._

 _It's hard to concentrate with that looming over you._

 _I know that I'm not taking care of myself. My eyes feel heavy, and sore, but the idea of sleeping is much more painful than the lack of sleep. There's no end to the constant pain, and the whole situation reminds me of being a teenager. Of being surrounded by danger and hatred._

 _He would rip the manuscripts from the wall. Strike me till I cried out in pain. But at least then there had been an end to it. Not this time._

 _This time it wasn't my life at stake._

* * *

 _After Simon had kissed me, my head was rushing. I couldn't stand up straight, think straight. I went straight home, and collapsed on my bed, my feelings whooshing out and in front of me in full view for me to see._

 _Bloody typical, I thought, running my hand over my lip, as if, if I thought hard enough, the feeling would return to me._

 _I had kissed a boy. I had kissed my best friend. I had kissed Simon._

 _And now, the deafening silence between us enveloped me. Where usually my phone would be filled with texts between us, there was simply emptiness. And I missed him._

* * *

 _I was mostly useless for the rest of the day. When my mother came home, I didn't leave my room to greet her. I didn't care, and more important things to think about._

 _It took her some time by eventually I heard her heels collide with the wooden stairs, her hands running along the silver banister, then the door creaking open._

 _"Basilton?" She asked tentatively. Henry must have told her I hadn't left my room. It's nice to know the only person who knows me in this house is the butler, Baz thought bitterly._

 _"Yes mother?"_

 _"What's wrong?" She asked, sitting at the edge of his bed as he lay and stared at the ceiling, "You're usually with Simon right about now." She added._

 _"We had an argument." He said. It was only a small lie, he reasoned. There was no point in telling his mother the truth, as much as he loved her, he also could imagine her most likely reply, that he couldn't be gay, that he couldn't, because no one in the Pitch family had ever, ever- god forbid- been a homosexual._

 _"Well, stop having an argument. Why don't you see if you can go visit his dormitory while I make dinner? Talk it out. I can't stand all this moping around."_

 _Baz laughed inwardly. He was always moping. But then, he supposed, when your parents don't actually know you, he supposed he couldn't expect anything else from her._

 _He nodded mutely, thanking every god in the sky when she finally left._

* * *

 _I shouldn't have wasted so much time. Life is fleeting, I know that now. I spent so much time destroying myself that I never stopped to think about what I was missing. Until it came to Simon that is._

 _He was the true exception to my life._

 _And now that he's dying, I realise that that exception will die with him. I will begin destroying myself as the days tick down, and down, closer and ever closer until the day he dies. And in that moment, in that moment where he leaves me, I don't know what I might do._

* * *

 _I had never expected to be the sort of cliché that everyone enjoys reading about. Most people hate me. I'm too sarcastic and cocky and insensitive, but if they knew me, and they knew that my father had beaten any respect I had for him out of me by the time I was 7, I don't know... Maybe they'd feel different._

 _Not that that makes any better of course._

 _So as I climbed up the fire escape to Simon's room, my main thought was 'wow, if I ever do make it as an author, Snow is gonna bring up how lame I was whenever the hell he can'. Well, here you are Snow, it's immortalised for you._

 _Eventually I made it up to Snow's window. While he supposedly shares the dorm with 2 other people, they are pretty much never there. I assume that they were either extremely promiscuous or that they hated him. Probably the second one -knowing Snow's luck._

 _I wrapped on the window probably a little too hard. I was met almost immediately by Snow's confused- and delighted face- and relaxed slightly, before I realised I had absolutely fuck all to say._

 _But there was no backing out now._

 _So before I gave myself time to think about it, I pushed myself through the window- somehow not managing to fall on my ass- grabs him by his shoulders and proceeded to kiss him again._

 _Because lord help me if I could ever get him out of my head._

 _And when he wrapped his arms around my neck, my brain lost it. I went into overdrive. I was no longer Baz, and he was no longer Snow, there was nothing anymore, I was lost. Where was the ground? Where was the air? Oxygen? What's that? It was like I was drowning. But it was a good kind of drowning, until we were eventually forced back up to the surface for air._

 _Our noses were touching as we breathed._

 _And do you know what Snow says? Do you know what he says when we lock eyes? Do you know what he has the fucking audacity to say?_

 _"Finally." He breathes against my mouth._

* * *

 _There was something amazing about that moment. Not necessarily because it was the fact that I was kissing Simon, although that was freaking fantastic. No. It was more of an admission to myself._

 _For once, for once, I was finally everything I was. To Simon, I wasn't a student, I was an author. To him I wasn't a boy, I was a boyfriend. To him I wasn't a coward, I was brave._

 _To Simon, I was everything I was afraid to admit to myself. It was an exhilarating feeling. He had seen me at my worst- staring up at him from a puddle of melted snow, and with my fingernails digging into my flesh._

 _But he had also seen me at my best- the best who had protected him from my father, the best who had grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him, but because I **wanted** to._

 _Without Simon, I'm terrified. I'm terrified. I'm terrified that I won't be myself anymore. That only the influence of my parents will be there to hold me to earth. And to them, what am I? A disappointment, a failure, a homosexual. I am nothing to them._

 _And if Simon is forced to take the next step on his own, to die and leave me behind, then I don't think there's even the smallest chance that I could be left behind. Instead, my soul will be taken with him._

 _I don't want to be what my parents see me as. I don't want to be a disappointment, or something to be fixed._

 _I want to be valued for my faults- my sarcasm and black humour that's gotten us kicked out of way too many parties among other things._

 _But also want to be what Simon sees me as- I want to become the best version of me I can be. And if he dies, that vision dies with him._

* * *

 _No. **When** he dies, that vision dies with him._

* * *

 **A/N: So. It's been maybe a year huh? I'm not going to lie, but I'm also not going to tell you what's up unless you guys are actually interested because I think that ruins the flow of the story. So please leave a review, I could really use the motivation.**

 **-L**

 **I love you all, have a great day/night.**


	6. Chapter 6

The abuse started for Simon in our fourth year of high school. I didn't notice it for so long. For so, so long, and so, for a little while, I can't write this. Sure, I'll be typing, but Simon will be dictating, because without his voice to tell the truth, how indeed can I say it is the truth at all?

* * *

 _It started small. Shoving in the hallways, a punch to the arm, words of abuse whispered low beneath the teacher's voices so only I would hear what he had to say of me. Ugly. Fat. Stupid. Idiot. Rude. Fag. The word and voice ring through my head even now._

 _It escalated fast. One day- the first day that my 'parents' insisted I see them every weekend- I travelled on the same bus as him. He sat close to me. Too close. He sat next to me like that when the bus was full, but as it slowly emptied, he made his way away from me; to the row in front._

 _When he did that, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Time passed fine... Until he started talking to me._

" _Hey Simon. How's your day going?"He asked me, leaning over the back of his chair to talk to me. The bus lurched forwards but he didn't fall back. He was secure in staring at me. I took a deep breath. I was tired, it had been a long day, the last thing I wanted to do was to say something wrong._

" _Fine." I muttered as quietly as possible, staring at the window rather than at him- revealing my emotions through my face was one of the most dangerous things I could do._

 _Without warning, he dove forward, his fingers circling my wrists._

" _What are you doing?" I asked in panic, trying to rip my arms away, but in response he jerked me forward harder. My wrists and forearms slid painfully through the gaps between the tops of the seats, as he dragged me closer to him. My feet left the floor as he held my in place._

" _Making you look me in the eyes."_

" _Put me down." I gasped, eyes darting around the bus, pleading for help. But all my classmates were blind._

" _Say the magic word." He demanded, eyes never leaving my face._

" _What?" I asked, before the bus lurched suddenly forward to brake. I was pushed closer to him, the skin of my wrists protesting painfully at the friction between us. I hoped he would lose his grip on me, but as before, the grip was impossible to get out of._

 _But I wouldn't submit. Even as he threatened me, and the lack of a seatbelt burned at the forefront of my mind, and the bus pulled up at my stop and I had to go, I wouldn't allow him to have a hold on me. I would not, could not, submit to him. I wouldn't allow myself to._

 _Eventually someone came over and intervened. They didn't tell him to stop what he was doing, only that I had to get off at this stop and if he didn't let go he'd have to drive me home. There was little relief when he let me go, I dropped harshly back into my seat, and my wrists stung._

* * *

 _It expanded from there. He leaned over me when I was working, masking it as looking over me at my computer screen, yet I could feel his breath against my neck._

 _He would run his fingers through my hair, and yank down on it when no one could see._

 _He would trip me up, punch me, arms, legs, shoulders. Nothing was safe._

 _He would run his hands up my legs, hands resting on my thighs under tables as I tried to work. There was no escape from him._

 _It felt like an overreaction- it still does. I didn't tell anyone about it. I knew what they'd say- that it was my fault. That if I just submitted to him, he would leave me alone. If I didn't make jokes about him in defence, he would move on. That it was an overreaction, or that I could hardly hold it against him, when he very clearly had anger problems, or some other kind of mental illness._

 _But just because Baz has depression doesn't change who he is._

 _I didn't tell Baz about it either. I didn't want him to get angry...start a fight or anything. Besides, Baz had enough on his mind, what with his father and everything..._

 _After a while, it felt like what was happening to me wasn't real. It became so frequent and, well, normal, that when he hit me, I expected it. When he touched me, it was normal. But that didn't make me any less afraid, or make it hurt any less._

 _It was like what he did to me didn't matter, and I kept telling myself that by telling anyone, I would be burdening them; they would laugh at me, and tell me I was overreacting, or they wouldn't believe me._

 _Apart from Baz. With Baz, I was afraid of the other extreme. By revealing my pain to him, I worried what he might do. I worried he would seek my abuser out and beat him within an inch of his life as best he could, and get hurt in the process. Imagining his reaction to my pain made my blood run cold with dread. I didn't know what he might feel. I could imagine rage, thick and hot, I could imagine anguish and hurt. Concern... Yet I didn't want any of it. All I wanted to do was pretend it wasn't happening, and, as it got more normal, I thought I had achieved it._

 _It was like it wasn't really happening to me because it was normal. I started to convince myself that this happened to everyone. I had heard about girls who had their skirts hitched up by boys or their hair threaded through when they didn't want it._

 _It was normal. And I could handle it._

 _Except I couldn't._

* * *

 _It became worse when the exams were almost over. He became bored, and his abuse of me became constant._

" _Say the magic word, won't you?"_

" _Stop making me have to hurt you"_

" _I'm trying to be nice to you, why are you always so hostile?"_

" _You can't work here. I don't want a fag near me."_

 _And the worst part of it all was my friends. They were blind. If I came back with a slightly redder cheek, or bruises on my hands, they wouldn't notice, whether I tried to hide it or not. So I stopped trying. It was like a cry for help, desperate and pleading._

 _When he would see me at break times with my friends, he would always come over to us. A high five for my friends, a ruffle of the hair for me. A fist bump for them, a punch in the arm for me._

 _Constantly. Always. He was always there._

 _I would glare at his back after he left, curse under my breath as he walked away, and my friends would glare and reprimand me. It felt like betrayal, to have them do this. I knew, of course, that they were only trying to protect a classmate. They didn't understand what was happening, they didn't understand my hatred, they didn't know my pain._

 _But I did. I was reminded of it every single day._

 _I remember the first day I lost my temper. One of my friends turned to me and said 'you shouldn't judge a book by it's cover, he's always lovely to us, why're you so cruel to him? Isn't swearing at him a bit harsh?"_

" _Stop talking." I snapped, "I'm warning you now. You have no idea what you're talking about. You have no idea. So drop it. Please."_

 _And that was that or a while. They tried to get me to say more, but I always reminded myself that it would be stupid to say something about nothing; that's all this was._

 _And when I had a dream about him using me for his own sadistic gain, I didn't mention it either._

 _He taught me to hide anything I felt, until I was completely unsure of what I was feeling. I didn't know which way was up, which way was down, I was constantly lost and alone._

 _I forced myself not to say anything to Baz. I kept my mouth closed to save him from the pain._

 _Until everything got out of hand. When I couldn't breathe, and there was no escape in sight, then I turned to the people who had let me down, to the people who weren't concerned for my wellbeing._

 _But, more than them, I turned to Baz, who had never followed them. Who had kept his assumptions to himself. And whilst I felt less alone, I had never felt more vulnerable._

* * *

 _The day I broke was a day like every other. I had one to my normal lessons, and he had shoved me against the lockers, cursed at me under his breath, leaned over my neck, hit me until my skin was light purple. The lilac barely noticeable._

 _It shouldn't have been worth making a fuss about. There was nothing particularly different about that day, in fact, barely anything had happened compared to a normal day. But I was drained._

 _I was dead. Empty inside, my emotions drowning me and yet not giving me conclusive answers as to_ _ **what**_ _I was feeling at the same time. The ocean forced me under and under, but never allowed me to get up._

 _I walked to English class with my body shaking. My breath rattled in my body and I couldn't concentrate. I was late to class and I didn't care- I don't even know what we learnt. I was done, I was dead. I couldn't do it any more. What I thought was normal and okay, was killing me._

 _Yet, even as i looked at my friends, and into Baz's eyes, I knew._

 _I knew it wasn't important enough to bother them with._

 _I knew they would say it was an overreaction._

 _I knew that they would say it was a lie._

 _Yet, in reality, my entire existence for the past year had been a lie instead._


End file.
